The Black Sheep: Year One
by Frozen Emerald
Summary: AU. Harry is the BWL, but he has a younger twin brother. This is an alternate first year, starting with Harry and Draco's meeting at Madam Malkin's. This time their conversation is a lot friendlier. Slytherin!Harry, no pairings.


**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The first part of this first chapter is taken from JKR's _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_, chapter five, and thus falls under the above statement, as do all of the other parts that are from PS. Most of the chapter is original stuff.

**Author's Notes: **Yes, I know this has been done before (I read **Dethryl**'s first year AU just yesterday), but I'm hoping the twin brother will spice things up a bit.

**There will be no pairings in this story!**

* * *

><p>– Chapter One –<br>**Shopping for School**

One wild cart-ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't need to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life – more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hullo," said the boy, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said Harry. "I'm really looking forward to it."

"Me, too. There's so much more to Hogwarts than just the school part. Mother and Father have told me so many stories of their Hogwarts years... although many of them seem quite unbelievable."

Harry wondered if all wizarding children referred to their parents in such a formal way. He knew that were his parents alive, he would most likely call them Mum and Dad, just like Dudley called Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

"Do you have any idea what House you'll be in?" asked the boy, after Harry had been silent for a good minute or so. "All of my family's been in Slytherin, and I know I'll be there as well."

Having no idea what Houses were, Harry tried to answer the question without making a complete fool of himself. "Uh, I really don't know. I... Look, the only things I know about Hogwarts are what Hagrid told me last night, and what you've just said." Honesty, Harry had learned the hard way, was rarely the best way to go – but lying tended to land him even more trouble than did being truthful.

The pale boy turned his head, giving Harry an appraising look. "Are you a Muggleborn, then?" he asked, and Harry got the impression that an answer in the affirmative wouldn't be appreciated.

"No; my parents were a witch and a wizard," he replied, "but I've been raised by my Muggle relatives. They never told me anything about magic, or the wizarding world."

The other boy looked appalled, most likely at the thought of living with Muggles. Harry couldn't really blame him, since he himself loathed his so-called family.

"They kept your heritage a secret? That's unforgivable!" the boy exclaimed. "What kind of relatives, Muggle or not, withhold such information?"

Harry was a bit taken aback by the anger on his behalf. It was only the second time in his life, after all – and he didn't even know who the blond boy was. Nevertheless, it was by no means an unpleasant experience.

"Well, they don't exactly like me – _because_ I'm a wizard. From what I've gathered, my aunt hated my mother because she was a witch – their parents were proud to have a witch in the family," he explained.

"That would mean your mother was a – wait... _was_?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, past tense. She and my father died when I was one... well, not _died_, but _were murdered_."

"Oh, sorry," said the boy, obviously meaning it.

"It's all right, I'm used to it," replied Harry, and it was only a partial lie. He _was_ used to being an orphan, but he wasn't quite over the murder part yet; the Dursleys had, after all, always claimed his parents had died in a car-crash. It had been quite a shock to find out the truth.

"Well then. I guess I should introduce myself," said the boy. "I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

He held out a hand, and Harry shook it, introducing himself: "And I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Both Madam Malkin and her assistant visibly jumped upon hearing Harry's words. Malfoy, on the other hand, merely raised a blond eyebrow. "You are? Well, the stories have it all wrong, then. They make you seem like some fantastic hero, but you look pretty ordinary to me. And I mean that in a good way."

"Good; I don't want to be a hero. All I want is to fit in," said Harry honestly. He didn't want to be famous for something he couldn't even remember – or at all, really. He had had quite enough of being singled out in the Muggle world – and, to him, it didn't make much of a difference whether the attention was negative or positive.

Just then Madam Malkin finished pinning Harry's robes, and he stepped down from the footstool. He also spotted Hagrid standing outside the shop; apparently the huge man hadn't wanted to squeeze himself through the door, which was on the narrow side.

"Well, we'll see you at Hogwarts, then," said Malfoy.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too."

With that, Harry followed Madam Malkin to the front of the shop, paid for his new robes, and exited the building.

"Yeh're done?" Hagrid asked.

"Yes, I've got my robes," Harry replied. "There's a book shop just next door, I'd like to go there next."

"All righ'."

Flourish and Blotts, the book shop, had literally thousands of books available, or so it seemed. There were bookshelves everywhere, line after line after line. The books appeared to cover all kinds of subjects: from children's stories to Divination and poetry. They were also in various sizes: there were stamp-sized books on one shelf, and tomes as large as tombstones on the next.

Harry quickly found the eight books on his list of required texts, but spend some time looking at the various other books. He was tempted by _Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian. Such spells were bound to work wonders on Dudley. Unfortunately, Hagrid informed him that he wouldn't be allowed to do magic outside of school.

"I'll buy this, anyway. Even if I can't _use_ the tricks, I can always _threaten_ to use them."

And so, with the nine books with him, Harry followed Hagrid to a much smaller stationery shop, where he bought parchment, ink and a few eagle-feather quills.

Their next stop was the Apothecary, where Hagrid asked for some basic potion ingredients for Harry while Harry wondered around the smelly shop, seeing all sorts of things that could apparently be used in potion-making. Some of the ingredients were quite gross while others, such as unicorn horns (twenty-one Galleons each), were fascinating.

They then got Harry a cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), a nice set of scales and a collapsible brass telescope, after which only one item remained.

"I still need a wand," said Harry, looking at his list. "Where can I get that from, Hagrid?"

"Ollivanders," replied Hagrid. "'S the only place fer wands."

The shop in question was located at the very end of Diagon Alley, and there was nothing except a single wand on a faded velvet cushion in the dusty window.

Harry stepped in, and a bell tingled somewhere in the back of the shop. There was no one in sight, and the spacious room was dimly lit. There were thousands upon thousands of long, narrow boxes piled on shelves that were tall enough to reach the ceiling. All in all, the atmosphere was more than a little unnerving.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, startling both Harry and Hagrid.

An old man, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, was standing in front of them, gazing at Harry. His unblinking stare only served to make Harry even more nervous.

"Harry Potter," said the man in his mysterious voice. "I had been wondering when I would be seeing you. It seems only yesterday when your mother and father were here, buying their first wands."

Harry had a sudden mental image of his parents' eleven-year-old selves standing where he stood, looking around. It was very odd, considering he didn't know what his parents had looked like as adults, let alone children. His imagination only had Hagrid's earlier words to go by.

"Ah, and Rubeus Hagrid, too! So very nice to see you again, after all these years... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," replied Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But surely they snapped it in half when you were expelled?"

"Er – yes, they did, yes." Hagrid shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. Perhaps sensing this, the shopkeeper (who Harry assumed was Mr. Ollivander), turned back to his young customer.

"Let's see then, Mr. Potter. Which is your wand hand?"

"Uh... I'm right-handed, sir."

"Very well." A measuring tape sprang up from the counter and started to measure the length of Harry's right arm, the length of his fingers, his height, the distance between his eyes (a task made a bit difficult by his glasses), the circumference of his head, the distance between his nostrils... and it would have continued on and on, had Ollivander not told it that that was enough.

The shopkeeper had gone to the nearest shelf, and after a few moments' consideration, pulled out one of the numerous boxes. "Mahogany, ten inches, quite supple. Your father was chosen by a mahogany wand, and wand woods sometimes run in the family." He lifted the top of the box off, and took out a dark brown wand. "Here, try this."

Harry accepted the offered wand, but had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.

"Just give it a wave," said Ollivander.

Harry did so, and a glass that was sitting on the counter cracked in half.

"No, no, definitely not," Ollivander muttered, snatching the wand back. He went to another shelf, and pulled out another box. "Willow, perhaps? Eleven and a half inches, with a dragon heartstring core. Your mother had a willow wand."

This time Harry didn't even get to give the wand a wave before Ollivander took it back.

The next four wands weren't good either, and neither were any of the ones Harry tried in the next fifteen minutes. To his confusion Mr. Ollivander appeared to get more and more pleased as the pile of wands on the counter grew.

Finally he pulled out a box from the top level of the dustiest shelf in a far corner of the shop, inspecting the wand inside carefully as he walked back towards Harry.

"Yes, why not? An uncommon combination; holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Try it out."

The moment Harry's fingers touched the dark wand, an enveloping warmth spread all over his body. He waved the wand, which caused silver and gold sparks to shot out from its end.

"Bravo!" exclaimed Ollivander, clapping his hands. "It is curious, though... very curious indeed..."

He took the wand back from Harry, and began to wrap it up, all the while muttering under his breath.

"Excuse me, sir, but what's curious?" Harry asked curiously.

"I remember every single wand I have ever sold, Mr. Potter," said Ollivander, again gazing at the eleven-year-old. "It is curious that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, which prompted Ollivander to continue, "Yes, I remember that wand. Thirteen inches, yew, its core a feather from the same phoenix whose feather is in your wand. A very powerful wand, that one was, and in the wrong hands... I daresay we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, You-Know-Who did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

_That_ gave Harry lots to think about. He paid seven Galleons for his wand, and followed Hagrid back to the sunlit street.

There was one more shop he wanted to visit, though. The Hogwarts letter had said that first-years were allowed to bring an owl, a rat or a toad, and Harry had always wanted a pet.

"Hagrid, I would love to get an animal of some sort; can we visit a pet shop?"

The large man had nothing against that, so the two made their way (or rather, Hagrid made their way; the alley was crowded) to Eeylops Owl Emporium, which was the closest shop that sold pets.

There were dozens of owls in the shop, in various sizes and colours. The racket they made was a cacophony of hoots and screeches, and wearing earplugs would not have been exaggerating.

A large owl caught Harry's attention. It was perched on top of a cage that was hanging from the ceiling, its dark body disguising it in the dimness of the shop. It was looking at Harry with its large, orange eyes.

Harry could not have explained why he instantly decided to purchase that particular owl; it was one of those times when one's mind acts in ways too complicated to really understand.

Three minutes later Harry and Hagrid exited Eeylops, Harry carrying his new owl in a cage. He decided to name the bird as soon as he got back to his bedroom at number four Privet Drive. Perhaps he would find a suitable name in one of his new books.

* * *

><p>Two hours later found Harry sitting on his bed, a pile of books next to him. The owl, which he had yet to name, was perched on top of his wardrobe. Harry had opened his window so that the bird would be able to go flying, if it so wished.<p>

Harry was leafing through _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ – although he had more than once stopped to read some creature's description. He had, for example, learned that Nessie was in fact a lot more than just a mere myth; the "monster" that lived in Loch Ness was a Kelpie.

And to think that dragons were not only real, but a couple of breeds also lived on the British Isles. It was very difficult to believe.

There was no mention of vampires in the book, which Harry found odd. Werewolves were mentioned several times, so they obviously existed – but what about the blood-sucking creatures? Were vampire bats truly the only vampires in the world, like he had been taught? Or were vampires classified as "beings"? The latter sounded more likely; vampires, after all, were in control of themselves, unlike werewolves in their wolf form. Or that was what Harry had learned about vampires, from Muggle literature and other media.

The next text he opened was _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, which turned out to have extremely in-depth descriptions of the various plants and fungi it covered. Harry found quite a few plants that he recognized – such as daisy, dandelion and nettle – but they apparently had various uses which he had not been aware of. To him, dandelions had never been more than pretty weeds that he had to remove from Aunt Petunia's flowerbeds, but the book said the flowers, leaves, roots and latex of the plant could be used for different purposes. Harry figured that Herbology was going to be an interesting subject.

He still hadn't found a name for his owl, though. The saleswitch at Eeylops had informed him that the owl was a female Eurasian Eagle-Owl, and he had decided to choose a name that was at least a little feminine. It couldn't be too ordinary, either. A unique name would be best, but he was hardly going to accomplish that.

Maybe it would be easier to choose something that fit the bird's appearance, or colouring? Harry focused on the owl, racking his brain for a good name. Various shades of brown, black and gray, and orange eyes. The ear tuffs were quite a distinguishing feature. They also reminded Harry of a lynx, of which he'd seen pictures.

Lynx... would that be a fitting name?

Probably not; even though the owl was a predator, and large (the saleswitch had mentioned that the Eurasian Eagle-Owl was one of the largest species of owl), naming her after a feline wouldn't do.

Giving up for the moment, Harry opened _A History of Magic_, and started to look for a name there. Goblin names, such as Uric the Oddball, were definitely out.

Then, on page thirty-eight, Harry finally found the perfect name. He knew one of the Ancient Greek goddesses had had the same name, and she had been the goddess of wild animals, hunting and wilderness. A perfect name for an owl.

"I'm going to call you Artemis," he informed the bird. She blinked her orange eyes in response, which Harry assumed meant she approved of the name he had chosen.

He decided to reward himself by forgetting about the school texts for a while, and instead reading some of Professor Viridian's book. It was bound to keep him entertained for the rest of the evening.

The book was relatively thick, and quite heavy, too. It would take him a lot longer than a few hours to read through it.

The table of contents looked very promising: in addition to what the title itself mentioned, there were spells for turning one's (enemy's) teeth into marshmallows, causing one's enemy to totally lose their sense of direction (although that one would only last for ten minutes), cursing one's enemy so that, for half an hour, they would only be able to talk in expletives and profanities, and bewitching one's skin, hair and eyes to change colours (everything from black to neon pink and lime green polka dots) every thirty seconds.

Harry dearly wished he could use some of the spells on Dudley, but knew that not only would that be against the law (Hagrid had made that very clear), he wouldn't have the required skill. He had never used magic, unless one counted those incidents when things just _happened_, and a vast majority of the curses, hexes, charms and jinxes seemed far too advanced for him.

He could still threaten to use what he'd learned, just like he had told Hagrid. The last weeks of the summer might just be a lot less unpleasant than the past years had been...

Grinning to himself, Harry eventually changed into his pyjamas and went to bed. Artemis had gone hunting, so he left the window open so that she could get back inside when she returned.

Harry's dreams that night consisted mainly of him tormenting Dudley; just like Dudley had always tormented him. Revenge was sweet, even if it was just in a dream.


End file.
